


He's All That

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, She's All That AU, YEAH I SAID IT, and agnst, gotta love it, i promised smut as well, it'll be fne, so tha's gonna happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's All That! AU<br/>Ian is the typical popular, rich, every girl wants him-every guy wants to be him(in him) sort.  he's even openly gay and still pretty popular. Mickey is the same southside foul mouth, social reject, dirty pain in the ass bottom feeder type in High School. After a recent break up with his bf Ian takes on a bet from his friends that he could befriend Mickey/ possibly get in his pants .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BuriedDeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuriedDeep/gifts).



> I had to watch this movie before I started writing this, which is why it took so long. But now that I saw the movie, I'm excited. I hope you are, too. Enjoy ^_^

“Rise and fuckin’ shine!” Mickey exclaims as he throws open the door to his sister’s room. He’d woken up in a pissy mood- but that wasn’t the unordinary part- because he was forced to go back to school after a full week of absolute relaxation.

But, seeing as that’s what the week was for, that was exactly what he _didn’t_ do.

Mandy rolled over in her bed, head facing the relative direction of which Mickey stood, but her black locks were matted to her face and her eyes were still close. “Don’t take your shit out on me,” she grumbled. “I wasn’t the one out til 3 in the mornin’ tryna get some last minute dick.”

Mickey jumped at her last word, glancing quickly back at their snoozing father on the couch before closing the door behind him. “Could you maybe keep your voice down, asshole?” Excuse him if he didn’t relish the thought of his homophobic evil shit of a dad even _thinking_ he may have heard something about his son liking dick. Which Mickey did; it took him a few years to come to terms with it-just to utter the words to himself- but he finally got out that he just really loved…dick.

If her eyes were open, she’d roll them. “Everyone was drinkin’ like there’s no tomorrow. Everyone’s passed out til 1. No one heard your dirty little secret.” At some point, she realized she’d said too many words and rolled back over, hating that she could feel herself waking up.

“Whatever. Just get your ass outta bed.”

* * *

 

Ian couldn’t tell how he’s been feeling for the past few hours. He hadn’t seen his boyfriend, Roger, throughout the whole week of Spring break, but that wasn’t the part that had him feeling a certain way. It was the menacing sense of distancing, the gnawing feeling where you question if this is what it feels like to break apart from someone. He’s never had that feeling before, so he isn’t sure. But he thinks that’s exactly what’s happening between him and Roger- and somehow he doesn’t feel bad. Or maybe he did feel bad, but it all felt too forced; like he felt bad because he was supposed to be.

Either way, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, confused and dazed about what he was and wasn’t feeling. He had to talk to Roger on where they stood.

But he’s walking with his brother, Lip, through the halls, over the campus. They ask a few people who would know where on earth his boyfriend might be, and none of them know. By this point, Ian’s frantic, but maybe not for the reason he should be.

He pulls out his phone to check if maybe Roger texted him. Nothing. So he brings it upon himself to start a new conversation.

_Ian: Hey where are you?_

It’s a few minutes later before he feels the vibration in his hand.

_Roger: Yeah we need to talk._

Ian understands the phrase. It’s a short sentence to strike the fear in anyone. “We need to talk”. It could be anything. But in the terms of “you and I” it only has one meaning, really. And he’s about to text back before he gets another message.

_Roger: It’s over._

Ian can feel his heartbeat slow down and it’s painful. He just reads the message over and over again, just seeing the words and letting them sink into his being. Again, he doesn’t know how he feels.

“Yo,” Lip nudges Ian. “Did he text back? Where is he?”

Ian nodded, but the action felt outside himself. And the words that tumbled over his lips almost seemed unreal. “It’s over.”

Lip was silent, letting the words sink in and trying to depict his brother’s reaction. “How-how are you feeling, man?”

Ian shrugged. “Dunno. I guess just confused, mostly.” He finally takes his eyes off the words and looks to his brother. “I mean…it couldn’t have been the sex. The sex was…fine.” Ian could feel himself trail off, not even sure if what he was saying was true. “And I’m a great person. I just don’t get it.”

Lip smirked and patted Ian’s shoulder with a clap. “Yeah, you’re a real stand up guy. And someone who seems to have a big dick, he doesn’t have balls enough to say it to your face, so fuck him.”

Ian nods and starts to say something before Lip cuts him off, obviously not done with his rant.

“And besides, you’re popular enough. If you maybe wanna try out a girl, there’s still a lot out there that want you. I think some of the guys on your soccer team are on the down low. Ever tried the football team? I mean sure, the steroids thing may be a deal breaker but-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ian yelled, placing a hand on Lip’s chest to stop him in every sense. “What makes you think I need a rebound? Or that I’d want to go for someone like Roger in the first place? I could get someone that wasn’t on our level.”

“No doubt, bro; no doubt. But, who’s tryin’ to be friends with your ass that _isn’t_ on our level? C’mon, Ian. This isn’t 1999. Just because you’re popular doesn’t mean everyone’s tryin’ to be all buddy-buddy with you.”

Ian rested against a pillar next to the outside lunch area, where most of the students resided in the morning before school started. “That’s bullshit!” He looked over Lip’s shoulder and spotted one of their friends, Marissa, who was walking towards them. “Ey, Marissa!” He called out, catching her attention.

Marissa walked over, her brown curls bouncing with each step as she drew closer. She gave them attentive eyes once she stood between them.

“Tell Lip that I could become friends with anyone at this school. I have charm.”

Marissa, completely ok with the random and peculiar conversation that she wasn’t aware of, opened her mouth as to say something. Then brown eyes started to roam heavenward, contemplating more on the statement. “Well…”

Ian groaned dramatically, rolling his head before looking back to her.

“It’s not you, necessarily,” she quickly comforted. “Have you met some of the kids, here? Well, obviously not…”  
Ian shook his head adamantly. Standing up straight now, he stated, “No, you guys are wrong. I can do it. Might even be easier now that I don’t have that dick to lug around.”

Marissa gasped. “You and Roger broke up?” she gave him sympathetic eyes as Ian consoled her.

“Don’t worry, Mar. I honestly don’t care. Guy’s been turning into a douche bag ever since he met those guys at that club in Boystown. Probably thinks he’s rolling with the high-and-fuckin’-mighty.” He looked back to Lip. “Point being, I can become friends with anyone here. People love me. It’s a gift not all of us could be born with.” He bores down on his brother, noting at his asshole reputation.

Lip raises his hands defensively. “Hey, some people can’t handle the truth. Fuck me if they can’t bear it. But since you think you’re so loveable-“

“I am,” Ian says with a satisfactory smile.

“Fine. A bet’s in order. Marissa,” Lip points to Marissa, which makes her jump a bit. “You shall be the moderator.”

“Oh God, no please don’t drag me into this,” she pleads and starts to back away.

Lip continues. “I pick out the person; you have until…” Lip looked through his list of upcoming school dates filed into his precise memory, “Prom for you guys to become friends.”

Ian scoffed, unfazed. “Please, by then, they’ll probably win Prom King or Queen- you know, perks of being friends with me or something.”

Lip’s eyebrows raised, his blue eyes going wide. “Oh yeah? Are we raisin’ the stakes on this? ‘Cause you know, we can make this a bet for all the marbles.”

Ian closed the distance, staring his brother down with stone eyes. “Bring it.”

Lip smirked, and they could faintly hear Marissa cursing the fate of this bet. “Alright.” He wrapped an arm around and Ian and trudged them both forward. Marissa followed behind, worried but intrigued on who Lip would pick. They scoped the area, Lip finding possible candidates and none seeming good enough. They were broke out of their intense searching by the sound of someone scrambling to the ground at the top of a staircase. The guy on the ground had all the books fro, his open book bag splayed out as he frantically tried to grab them all. The guy standing about him stood hard, a strand of his gelled locks falling into his face as he glared down to the anxious boy.

“Watch where you’re fuckin’ going next time,” he spit out, stepping over the mess he created and walking away, rubbing his lip with his hand to show the “FUCK” tattooed on his knuckles.

It all gave Lip a surge of inspiration. He patted his brother’s shoulder a few times, almost in sympathy as he pointed to the angry guy walking away. “Him.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. “Mickey Milkovich?”

* * *

 

It wasn’t until lunch time, when Lip and Ian regrouped, that the bet was brought up. Lip made sure that Ian was still going strong- but how couldn’t he? Roger wasn’t even at school, it seemed-before he brought up the bet again. Marissa leaned back on the bench, next to where Lip sat on the table.

“After you, bro,” Lip said, gesturing to the Milkovich boy sitting at a bench a few rows from them.

Ian rolled his eyes as he got up. Before he walked off, he stalled. “Seriously, though? You couldn’t pick someone with a chance? Like, I can work with Angie Zago…sure he’s a slut but-“

“What’s that I hear?” Lip mocked, leaning in close and cupping his ear as if he didn’t hear Ian. “Is someone backing down?”

Ian glared. “Fuck you,” he hissed before stomping off to Mickey’s table.

Mickey’s back was to Ian, leaning against the bench and his heading moving from left to right, as if he was scoping the area.

Ian cleared his throat. “Hey, Mickey,” he greeted. He watched Mickey turn back to see who had called him. He only got a glimpse of his bright blue eyes before he was back to his initial position.

“Hey, Ian!” Mandy greeted, coming and standing in front of her brother with a big smile on his face.

He pasted on a smile quickly. “Hey, Mandy.” She kept smiling, so he felt the need to explain. “I was just trying to see if Mickey maybe wanted to…” he trailed off as Mickey got up, grabbing hold of his sister’s arm to lead them both away, “leave me standing here, looking like an idiot,” he added softly. He looked after the Milkovich siblings as they walked down the stairs and out of view. This was gonna be a lot harder than he thought.

He heard a familiar laugh behind him and almost didn’t want to turn around to see Lip doubling over.

Once Lip got enough control over his laughter, he raised up a thumb. “Good job, so far.”

Ian turned back around and looked to the last place where he was able to see Mickey. Yeah. Great job, so far.


	2. Up Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I come from a line of fagbashers,” Mickey stated, interrupting Ian’s visual exploration and brought his eyes back to ice blue orbs shining even in the dim lighting of the bar. “How do you know I won’t do the same?”
> 
> Ian shrugged. “Fagbashers live off opportunity- they bash whenever they get the chance. And you, Mickey, have had plenty of opportunities.” He smiled when Mickey’s face fell, bluff shot down. “And here I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo let's Ian and the Gallaghers are living in Bridgeport- a part fairly close to their old Canaryville neighborhood- and the whole situation of the Gallaghers will be explained in the next chapter. Just know that the house they're living in is a lot bigger, a lot nicer, and in Bridgeport...not Canaryville.

Mickey needed a smoke- but what else was new? No, he needed something stronger, because one of the admittedly hottest guys at his school decided to talk to him. But the thing about Ian Gallagher was that he was Lip Gallagher’s brother; the guy he paid to do his Lit papers freshman year. There was always something funny about the whole thing. Wasn’t there a time when the popular kids were too airheaded? Every movie he could think of depicted that. Things have changed since 1999.

But one thing that hadn’t changed was the bad boy status. The Gallagher brothers and their crew may have been popular, but Mickey had a reputation of his own. And in the past few decades, the lesson to stay away from the most dangerous kid in school was still highly regarded.

So Mickey was utterly confused when pretty boy Gallagher decided to come up to him and initiate a conversation. It was like the kid had a death wish or something. Everyone knew about the Milkovich family; they were the lowest of the low, American- born criminals in the making. They were the people that gave not one single fuck about the law and would continually get themselves in trouble with it because they did what they want. So Mickey had a reason to be baffled. That was the only reason.

Or so he tried to convince himself.

He’d always hated Ian. He got to be out and open while he had to hide so far in the closet he’d found himself in Narnia. Because Ian didn’t have to worry about a homophobic douche bag being his father and only reason why they weren’t in foster homes. Come to think of it, there were a lot of things Ian didn’t have to worry about. He was one of the most popular people in school; girls wanted him even though they knew they didn’t have a chance in the depths of hell of ever getting it in with him; he was the star offense for their soccer team and probably the only reason why they won most of their games in the first place; every guy wanted to be him. He was the stereotypical popular girl-only he had a dick. There was his other reason to be confused.

It had nothing to do with the fact that maybe at some point he had a crush on Ian. Not at all. Once Mickey completely realized that he was gay, it was always seeing Ian that confirmed it. But that phase had past. He was a senior now. That ship had sailed- _before_ Ian started dating that dick Roger. Roger was the type of guy that everyone knew was a complete asshole, but they grudgingly loved him. It had nothing to do with his charismatic attitude-he was just popular. Mickey never understood the logistics of school hierarchy nor did he want to. But it was a question on many minds of what Ian saw in the guy.

Mickey settled himself under the bleachers, taking out a cigarette and a lighter out of his back pocket. Sure, he had homeroom, but to Mickey, homeroom was just another term for “free period”. He sucked in the nicotine, trying his hardest to forget about the short interaction with Ian Gallagher, but with every roll of smoke that left his lips, he’d think of fiery red hair.

He sighed exasperatedly, leaning back against one of the poles. “Fuck.”

* * *

 

Ian had gone through the whole day and realized he never texted Roger back. He walked through his front door and dropped his bag on the ground.

_Ian: Ok_

“Hey,” he greeted, seeing his younger sister, Debbie, sitting in their kitchen, applying makeup. His phone buzzed while she greeted back.

_Roger: Do you wanna talk about it or somethin?_

It was a great question. Did he really want to talk about it or did he just want to forget about it in general.

Debbie looked from the reflection in her mirror to see Ian’s troubled expression. “You ok?”

Another great question. Ian shrugged. “I guess. I mean, I think so.” When Debbie turned around with a bewildered expression, he felt the need to explain. “Roger broke up with me.” He saw her shocked expression and the way her lips opened to apologize and he stopped her. “Nah, seriously I’m fine. But now he wants to talk about it or some shit. Not sure if I wanna do that.”

She shrugged, looking back to her mirror with a long, slender brush in her hand. “You need closure. Even if you think you’re fine, it’s still best to get everything out there, y’know?”

Ian smirked. “I’m sorry, when did my 13 year old sister get so smart with relationships?”

“But you think you’re fine?” she asked, not giving his comment any thought.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been given a…uh… _project_ , if you will.”

“Does this project involve another person?” She watched his head move up and down from the reflection.

“But he’s not coming around; pretty stubborn.”

“In other words, he doesn’t like you? Wow, sound the alarm, folks; someone doesn’t like Ian Clayton Gallagher.” She laughed at her sarcastic comment. She’s been getting really good at those, and no one’s really sure where she got it from.

“No, no,” Ian countered. “He _has_ to like me. That’s what the whole bet-“

“It’s a _bet_?” She had a weird sense of fear and worry mixed into her face. “Oh, Ian, do I really have to be the one to tell you how bad this will end up?”He rolled his eyes and Debbie reflected the action. They were so much alike, not just in physical appearance but in attitudes as well. “Look, if you want this guy to like you, maybe start off with having something in common with him? Don’t try to be your usual charming self either.” She examined her face in the mirror and smiled, liking what she saw. “Ok, I’m going to Andy’s house to play some videogames. Tell Fiona I went to Chloe’s house, will ya?”

He gave a small smile as she slipped out the kitchen door. He looked down and remembered he hadn’t replied to Roger’s text.

_Ian: sure. In the yard tomorrow before school._

He didn’t think much or even expect him to text back. He had to put this plan into action. There were only 8 weeks left of school and about 4 or 5 weeks left until prom.

* * *

 

“With all the time you spend here,” Mickey heard Kev mumble as he poured Mickey’s beer, “you might as well work here.” He sat the glass down, smiling at the glaring boy on the other side. “Hey don’t knock it. You could work for beer. That sounds like somethin’ you’d be interested in.” Kev’s attention was taken away in an instant, so Mickey may have just told him to fuck off, but he was too busy watching the familiar face. “Hey, Ian!” Kev greeted, genuinely happy. “I think the wrong Gallagher’s here.”

Mickey tensed at Ian’s modest greeting. He kept his eyes on his beer while the poor boy sat down next to him. Kev moved further down the bar, keeping an attentive eye on the interaction.  

When it was obvious that Ian was staring at Mickey, he glanced over, itching from the intensity of those green eyes. “The fuck do you want?”

And it didn’t help the situation that he didn’t seem fazed by Mickey’s demeanor. “Well, you kinda blew me off today.” He gave a small chuckle.

Mickey slammed his glass down before turning to face Ian. The guy just looked at him patiently and it was driving Mickey crazy. “You want drugs or somethin’? If you’re trying to experiment, you’re probably a bit late. The whole drug recreational ship has sailed-“

“Woah, Mick.” He laughed again. “I’m very capable of getting my own weed. I know people.” He ended with a subtle nodded of his head to the vague vicinity of where Kev stood. Mickey glanced over to see Kev shrug and nod to confirm Ian’s statement.

Before he could let himself be embarrassed, he asked, “So again, what the fuck do you want?”

“Why can’t I just talk to a fellow student in peace? Why do I need something?”

He didn’t have an answer, so he filled in the space with taking another long sip of his beer, a stubborn set to his features.

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Ok, fine. Jesus. I was hoping to get a few…” he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice; he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on his face, but he actually smelled pretty nicely- a mixture of some type of soap, his hair gel, and the cigarettes. And he may have let his eyes trail over his physique- but only because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to Mickey (it was for science, he rationalized). The Chicago air was getting warmer, and that meant less clothing, which Mickey had obviously gotten the memo of with his dark green shirt and black hoodie. The sleeves were rolled up to show of defined muscles in his arms; add that with his broad hands, strong tatted fingers, it gave Ian ideas he probably shouldn’t have been having.

“I come from a line of fagbashers,” Mickey stated, interrupting Ian’s visual exploration and brought his eyes back to ice blue orbs shining even in the dim lighting of the bar. “How do you know I won’t do the same?”

Ian shrugged. “Fagbashers live off opportunity- they bash whenever they get the chance. And you, Mickey, have had plenty of opportunities.” He smiled when Mickey’s face fell, bluff shot down. “And here I am.”

Mickey gave a single nod, eyes traveling out of involuntary action. He decided he liked Ian’s smile- smug or otherwise. His lips were the perfect shade of pink, almost too perfect to be real, and they were full but could stretch a mile wide when in the form of a smile and it was the perfect- again, too perfect to be true. “Here you are. So, you were hoping to get…”

Ian’s brain lagged for a second; completely unaware of what Mickey was talking about until he remembered what lie he was supposed to be spewing. “Oh, I was, uh, hoping to get a few weapons off you; maybe a gun or two.”

A smirk bubbled over the dark haired boy’s lips. “What, they don’t give you your own shit in the army training?” The question slipped before he realized he wasn’t supposed to know about that. Sure, people knew about him being in the ROTC, but it wasn’t what he was known for. It was the equivalent of being a tutor in the subject- it may have been something that everyone was aware of, but no one paid much attention to it because…what’s the point in it, really?

And that’s when Mickey decided he really liked Ian’s grin. It was tight and holding back the smile Ian wanted to display; perfect. The grin was gone as he put back on his serious face. “Right, like they’re gonna give a bunch of hormonal teenagers a gun to use on people. Get real, Mickey.”

His blue eyes rolled back at the statement. “Ok, so what are you huntin’? People?”

“No, I’m not gonna kill a person.” He isn’t sure why he thought Mickey would be pleased with that answer.

Mickey shrugged. “Shame,” he mumbled, his voice and expression laced in some type of disappointment.

Ian watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he chugged the rest of his beer. He may have just messed up, and he got the impression that first looks with Mickey was a necessity. When he finally finished, he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip to wipe up anything that he may have missed, and Ian imitated immediately, staring at Mickey’s lips. They looked soft, contrast from his overall character, and Ian wanted to bite into them, watch the blood fill back in slowly.

“You came to the right place,” Mickey said, again bringing Ian’s attention back to his eyes. And always looking back up to those blue eyes was far from being a disappointment. “Wanna come around tonight? Say, 7pm?”

Mickey’s change in attitude was something to worry about, and the way he eyed Ian, too patiently for a Milkovich to watch, was unsettling.

But Ian nodded, ready to roll through whatever might happen. “Yeah, ok.”

Mickey gave a terse smile seeping with sarcasm. “Great.” He slammed some bills down and walked off, leaving the bar and again leaving Ian by himself, looking a bit out of place.


	3. Surreal, right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first time he had sex, he was dumbstruck yet emotionally flooded. It all made sense of why he was a little too giddy when the little shit would come around, or how he’d try to impress the apathetic kid with his mad baseball skills: he had liked Mickey. And it took him his having sex with Roger- the same time when he confirmed he was, in fact, gay- for him to realize he’d had a crush on Mickey, for-what-how many years? It didn’t matter, because now it was over. The crush was gone now. It was gone when he moved out of their neighborhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried this new style of writing where I write a bit each day and basically at the end of the week, it's been a week's worth of work. Lemme know if it makes much difference in the actual content :)

                Mickey wasn’t really sure what he expected. He had this inkling that Gallagher was lying, but then again, he wasn’t so sure- it was just a gut feeling he had. The only sure thing for him to do was to go with it- and maybe scare the kid off in the process (just for extra measure, he reason with himself).

He swung open the door to their house; it would have promptly scared the living shit out of anyone who wasn’t used to it. All it did, however, was make the drunken man sitting on his couch more irritable.

“Don’t go slammin’ my fuckin’ doors, you fucktard!” Terry yelled, trying hard to keep his words from slurring together in his haste to rattle them out.

“Just shut up and drink another beer! Jesus Christ, you gonna pass out anytime soon?” Mickey grumbled over the crash of slamming the door shut behind him with his foot.

Terry chuckled evilly, a flood of insane sobriety flowing through his features; that’s because- drunk or not- his sole desire was to rile his kids up to the boiling point. “What’s got your panties in a knot, princess?”

Mickey only answered with his middle finger as a salute to his father and a pasted smiled as he walked to his room.

Honestly, he couldn’t catch a break. He sighed heavily when he opened his door to find his sister _clearly_ ignoring the sign on the outside of his door reading “Keep the FUCK Out!”

“What the fuck!” exclaimed Mickey.

Mandy glanced back before continuing to rummage through one of Mickey’s drawers. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t have to.” After a few seconds of creating the most obnoxious sound of rummaging, she huffed and went on to another drawer. “Do you know where the chrome switchblade is?”

“You’re looking for a knife?” he asked in utter shock. “Why couldn’t you just take one from the closet _stocked_ with ‘em?” It wasn’t like he had anything secretive to hide- he wasn’t dumb enough to leave anything that could even _suggest_ what he was into for any of his family members to find. He just honestly hated not having a bit of privacy- something quite hard to find in the Milkovich household.

She stared at him as if he should have known the answer. “Because yours has the nice colors and it’s always funner when it looks like you take care of your weapons.” Why didn’t Mickey understand? It was so obvious.

Not really caring about the back-story of what she just spouted off, Mickey rolled his eyes and rubbed at his face exhaustedly. “I’m almost pretty sure ‘funner’ isn’t a word,” he muttered into his hand before taking in a rejuvenating breath and spoke aloud. “Right, well, I have it. And I need it for tonight, so you can’t borrow it.”

She smirked at his statement. Borrow. Hilarious. “And why is that?”

“Gallagher’s comin’ around to look at a few arsenals and-“

“Holy shit!” She walked the few steps to stand in front of Mickey, getting pretty close for his liking, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

Mickey was incredibly confused. “Seriously, what?”

She rolled her eyes. How could Mickey think he could bring up Ian as if it was nothing, as if they were friends or something? “What does he need ‘em for?” she asked, but before Mickey could answer-most probably a snappy snip at her being a nosey bitch- she piled on the heavy. “You think he’s gonna hurt Roger? Is he on the rebound? Do you think he knows you’re gay?”

There it was again, Mandy having no regards for the fact that she was being loud as fuck. Mickey jumped a bit, getting in defensive position at the word. He held his hand out, making sure Mandy didn’t get to close. “Woah, ey, hey! Watch it. What you mean ‘rebound’? What, they broke up?”

“Technically, Roger broke up with Ian- over _text_!” She spit out a laugh as if she was gossiping with her friends over tea. “Chicken shit, that douche is, right?”

Mickey watched his sister as she continued to snicker at her comment. He had a few questions he wished he didn’t. Like, how the fuck did she know about this? Or maybe, why would Roger break up with Ian? If anything, he was bet on Ian breaking it off with Douche-Dick Roger. He could think of a million reasons why they didn’t work- but he only let himself think of a few because he wasn’t supposed to care at all. What if Ian _was_ planning on hurting Roger? What if Ian _was_ looking for a rebound? What if Ian _did_ know that Mickey…liked dick?

But Ian didn’t seem like the type to hurt people, even if they did break his heart. He was the sensible one while his brother was the one that was cold and insensitive. So maybe he did know Mickey was gay? And he could suddenly feel himself fold inward, thinking irrationally similar to a teenage girl: why would he like Mickey? _Did_ he like Mickey? Blah, blah, blah.

Mandy voiced his next thought when her giggling finally subsided. “Hey, didn’t you used to have a crush on him?”

“Didn’t _you_ used to have a crush on him?” he snapped back too quickly for his liking.

A smug smile grew on her face. “Hell yeah, I did. That boy can get it. Have you watched him at the soccer games? Or when he’s working out in gym class?” Her blue eyes looked to the distance in reminiscing. “God, if he wasn’t gay…”she sighed, leaving the inquisition in the air to be filled in with any and everything that could fit in the space behind it.

He rolled his eyes again to mark the disgust he felt. “Alright. You know where the knife is. You know you ain’t gettin’ it. Get the fuck out.”

* * *

 

 Ian didn’t really make it his business to walk the same streets after not living them for the last four years. But he found himself on the familiar block, so close yet so far, for Mickey. He’s known the guy since they were really young. They even played on the same little league baseball team. He always smiles at the memory of when the coach got pissy when Mickey was pissing on first base. He knew then that he really wanted to be friends with the Milkovich. Or so he thought. After the first time he had sex, he was dumbstruck yet emotionally flooded. It all made sense of why he was a little too giddy when the little shit would come around, or how he’d try to impress the apathetic kid with his mad baseball skills: he had liked Mickey. And it took him his having sex with Roger- the same time when he confirmed he was, in fact, gay- for him to realize he’d had a crush on Mickey, for-what-how many years? It didn’t matter, because now it was over. The crush was gone now. It was gone when he moved out of their neighborhood.

About four years ago, his oldest sister, Fiona, met a guy, a rich guy, Steve. Through the years of toil, separation, and finding out that his name was actually Jimmy, the couple decided that nothing would be able to tear them a part. Jimmy was stuck on giving his new family a better life. So he found a house a couple of miles away. A couple of miles made quite a difference as they crossed over from the bad hood of Canaryville to the nice hood of Bridgeport. Their house was better, big enough so that almost everyone had their own room (Carl and Liam shared a room, but it worked perfectly since Lip was off to college in just a few months). And the best part was that it was away from the drama that was their father, Frank Gallagher. Kev and V came over often, admiring the spacious complexity of what a few extra thousand dollars could bring them. They had created a new life for themselves without changing it so much, and it worked out great for everyone.

So it almost seemed wrong to walk down the streets of his childhood; the memory of where everything was coming back as if he never left. And he almost wanted to laugh at the fact at how easy he could slip into the comfortable walk that he took to the Milkovich household. At one point they only lived a block away from each other, and nothing felt different as he rounded the corner. The only difference was that, instead of walking pass like he usually did, this was his destination.

He found Mickey with his back to him as he leaned against the railing. Ian could see that he was going back and forth between sipping on beer and smoking a cigarette.

“Hey,” he called out, hoping not to startle the boy out of his daze.

All he got in response was a turned glance as the smoke emitted from his nostrils with his lips pursed together in a tight line.

Mickey walked down the stairs, avoiding eye contact with the red head as he started on a journey. Ian stared for a second before actually following the short thug. “Where are we going?” he asked after a few seconds of silent walking.

Mickey flicked the butt of the cigarette towards the ground. “You wanted some weapons, right?”

“I was kinda hopin’ I’d get ‘em from you.” Ian did his best to make sure he didn’t stumble over his words. If there was anything he learned from his family, it was to put on an act. The Gallaghers weren’t keen on showing fear, and they either tended to go towards the rational, stone expression or snarky sarcasm, possibly-putting-their-lives-in-more-danger tactic. Ian always switched between the two evenly, and even he wasn’t sure which one he’d end up using tonight as Mickey lead him to God knows where.

“You seriously think I’m gonna sell you my shit?” Mickey laughed. “If you’re gonna hurt Douche Dick Roger, I’d much rather _not_ have my shit accompanied with it.”

Ian smiled at Mickey’s alteration to Roger’s initial nickname of “Donkey Dick”, a self proclaimed name that was actually true, Ian had soon figured out. And maybe he smiled at the fact that Mickey knew that they broke up. But shit, the whole school could know by this point. “You heard, huh?”

Mickey itched to say the words he’s been thinking until they finally just came blurting out. “Kid’s such a pussy. He deserves whatever’s comin’ for him.”

“Roger’s on the wrestling team,” Ian noted, kicking himself mentally for even defending him.

“So he’s in some guy’s explosion zone for about ten minutes apiece.” He turned to look at the red head that had caught up to him with ease. The more he thought about it and the guy standing next to him, he understood it less and less. What the fuck did Ian seriously see in him? But he couldn’t understand, nor should he want to understand.

“I’m not gonna hurt him. He ain’t worth it.”

“So you seriously just want these for…what- protection?” There was an underlined tone of disappointment that he wished wasn’t there.

Ian gave his smug smile, the smile that made Mickey’s gut twist into coiled knots. “Hey, if you can’t trust me with your shit, why should I trust you with my motives?”

Mickey smirked against his own will. He seriously wanted to hate this guy, because he had all the reason to- or he thought he did. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

After a few minutes of torturing silence, Mickey gave in with a deep exhale. “His name is Al. We always buy our shit from him. But he’s a paranoid fuck; he tries to out you for being a pig and either runs away or beats you to a pulp.”

“If he’s so afraid, why doesn’t he just get a different job?”

“Shit, the money’s good! Dealin’ with weapons in Chicago is just as good as dealin’ drugs. We all want the things this shit city is sayin’ we can’t have. Plus, more people rather come to him since he does it cheaper and don’t ask if you have a license.” He glanced at Gallagher. “Not backin’ down are you?” He didn’t even try to hide the triumph in his voice.

“Man, you act like some pretentious fuck, Mick.”Ian sounded a bit offended, and he kind of was. Was he really that different from when he lived here? Not to say it was a bad thing necessarily, but…

They rounded a corner and met a dingy, dark green van (or maybe it was some type of gray color- neither could tell) in the dark depths of the alley. Just ahead of where the van was stationed was a measly pool of light that came from the two lights overhead that stood on either side of the alley.

Ian stood back as Mickey stepped forward with a slightly straighter posture. He used his open palm to slam repeatedly against the door on the back of the van, and Ian was a bit surprised at the rattle the smaller hand could make.

“What?” a straggly voice answered.

“Yo, Al. It’s Mickey. I brought you some business.”

Neither so much as saw rather they heard the driver’s door open with a slight creak and slam shut. Then there were the footsteps against the concrete and gravel while the small man rounded his van. The Man was short, probably around Mickey’s height, and wore lumberjack wear. The sight of this man amused Ian because he just seemed so…fitting for his career choice.

The old man squinted his eyes as he gave as close an inspection of Ian as he could give seeing that the sky was quickly turning dark. “You a cop?”

He only shook his head, not sure of what would come out if he opened his mouth.

“Al, trust me,” Mickey soothed while patting the old man’s shoulder. “Kid’s not a cop. Just some _rich kid_ lookin’ for a bit of weaponry.”

Ian flinched at the way Mickey said rich kid. Maybe he was right about Mickey thinking he was some pretentious fuck. And sure he was going off a bet, but even that didn’t seem to make him in the mood anymore.

“Ya know what?” Ian spoke, his voice a lot clearer than he expected. “I change my mind. I’m just gonna leave this whole thing. Fuck it.”

Mickey didn’t understand, but Ian wanted him to get it. He only shook his head, a smile that Ian couldn’t understand on his face. “Nah, now you gotta buy somethin’ or else Mad Man over here is _really_ gonna suspect somethin’.” And just to confirm Mickey’s point, Al straightened up a bit and gave a firm nod.

With a roll of his eyes, Ian sighed. “Fine. Show me what you got.” And watched Al smile as he opened up the doors to display so many guns and arsenals that it couldn’t have been safe to all be in one place. Yet, there they were. It was a soldier’s heaven; it was an _assassin’s_ heaven. And here it all was, on the back of some crazy dude named _Al’s_ truck.

In the dim light of the van, what caught Ian’s eye was a machete with a black wooden grip, something he’s wanted for a while. He pointed to it, almost forgetting he was supposed to be annoyed. “The machete?”

Al picked it up, turning it in his hands while giving Ian a good view of it. After a second or two, Al looked over to Ian. “50.”

Ian’s jaw went slack. “For the machete?” He glanced to Mickey to read his expression. Was he supposed to act like he didn’t know much about knives and blades? But of course he would.

Al shrugged, a smug smile still on his face. “I know how to work the young ones.”

He kept his eyes on Mickey, watching as the blue irises followed his every move as he went for his wallet, pulled out the bills to add up to $50 and as he handed it over, the machete replacing where the money was in his hand a second earlier. He liked being under those blue eyes’ inspection, it seemed, and he fought a smile as the boy’s tongue slid out to lick his bottom lip slowly before giving it away to his teeth. Ian hadn’t thought much about the whole “being gay” thing, but he let the idea slip into his mind if Mickey could have possibly been checking him out. It was absurd to think, but not incredibly impossible. Could it?

“That all you want?” Mickey asked, eyes still roaming over the red head’s face.

“For now.”

Mickey nodded, telling Al he’d see him in the near future before walking off. Ian followed and Al told him how it was a pleasure doing business with him, and they were off to who knows where- again.

They left the alley, now walking down the seemingly desolate street. Ian tried to focus his attention on the weight of the machete in his hand, the feel of the wood in his grip. Holding something like this gave a person the sense of power. And taking that first swing, mastering the strength and control was just another high all together.

“That army training of yours teach you anything useful?” Mickey asked, trying not to sound so interested- and failing.

“Define ‘useful’.”

“You know how to shoot, Gallagher?” The smaller boy was fast approaching the stage of annoyance with the red head and his added nonchalance wasn’t helping.

“Nah, Mick. We just knit sweaters. The best form of combat is kindness, after all.” He laughed when Mickey flipped him off, knowing there was no real sharpness to his actions. Maybe it’d be easier than he thought to become friends with this Milkovich.

Mickey stopped under the streetlight abruptly. Ian stood in front of Mickey, confused. But then those blue eyes stared straight into his, and he could almost feel the question Mickey was about to ask.

“What did you actually want?” His voice was low, as if he didn’t want the empty street to hear his question.

When Ian opened his lips, he was ready to blurt out the answer he’d rehearsed: he wanted some fighting material. But as the creamy white of the street light shined down on him, showing how the sea of blue in his eyes would grow and shrink as his pupils dilated, he found himself speaking the truth.

“You have really nice eyes.” He regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips. He knew those words could have ended the bet all together, because in that moment, he forgot the bet existed. All he thought of was how he actually wanted to become friends with the dark haired danger standing before him…or maybe something a little more intimate than that. But he was a Milkovich, and though he’s yet to pound his face in for liking dudes, that didn’t mean he still wouldn’t cringe at the sound of a fag telling him how nice his eyes were. He could see it now. All Mickey had heard in that moment was “Let’s bang” and he never thought his sexuality could scare him as much as it did in that moment.

Mickey blinked once, twice, thrice before answering. “Wow. You really pulled out the big guns on that one, didn’t ya?”

And all Ian thought he knew burned to ashes and he was confused again. “Huh?”

“Your pole smokin’ ass breaks up with your boyfriend and think you can say a few words and just _any_ dude is gonna let you stick it up their ass? You may be popular and all, but you’re not _that_ powerful.”

“Mick, I was just-“

“I think there’s a fancy word for stuff like that,” Mickey interrupted, walking backwards. “I think it’s ‘surreal’ or some shit.”

“Mick-“

“I’m gonna head home. You got your machete, so you don’t have to worry about anything, right, rich boy?” He ended, turning back and walking away with his head hung low.

Fuck. He knew he’d just set himself 2 steps back, all the way back to the starting point. He sighed heavily as he watched Mickey walk away. He knew he was gonna have to do something big and soon. He’d figure it out as he walked back home, with a machete he didn’t really need because he already fucking _had_ one.

* * *

 Mickey shook his head, his heart racing towards a finish line he wasn’t sure existed. He’d used the right word: surreal. It _was_ surreal, but not for the reason he spoke aloud.

Ian Gallagher- big man on campus and he’s not even a senior yet- was looking to him, Mickey Milkovich-antisocial thug that no one wanted to go around- for, what, a quick fuck or something? Mickey had tried to ignore it the whole night; tried to ignore the feeling in his chest as he built up the idea that maybe Ian wasn’t looking for a rebound. But it kind of hurt as that tower came crumbling down. _Nice eyes_? Seriously?

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Ian from now on.


	4. Can't Shake It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What a lovely sight, isn’t it?” And he regretted his words the instant he turned to see Mickey’s irritated expression.  
> He grunted for an answer. “If that’s what you’re into, sure.”  
> Ian shrugged. “Well, what are you into?” He really needed to give his words more thought before speaking them.  
> “What?” Ian couldn’t really read his expression, but confusion was there.  
> And of course Ian felt the need to explain. “I-I just meant, like, what are your interests, and…stuff?”  
> “Why the fuck do you care?”  
> Ian sighed in exasperation; he needed to grow a pair. “I’m just trying to be nice-“  
> “Why? No one asked you to be nice to me. Why are you trying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, hey. Long time no talk, amiright? Haha hope this makes up for my absense

Mickey would blame his inobservance on his hangover. After hearing the words that may or may not have suggested to something, he drowned himself in whiskey and jack. He’d had his morning hangover remedy, but there were still enough remnants to keep him from working properly. So he didn’t notice how the wind had picked up that morning; that’s why it took a while to light his cigarette on the way to school. And as he sat in the open area in front of his school, he’d blame his inobservance for why he didn’t see Ian right away, so close yet so far from him a couple of benches away.

It seemed as if Ian hadn’t noticed him either. He ached for another cigarette, anything to keep his mind busy. He’d hoped last night was the last he saw of Ian Gallagher. He’d spent almost three years making himself hard to find to the Milkovich’s eyes. But now he was everywhere! And he yearned for something to take his mind off the fact that maybe Ian had noticed him as well.

Mickey snuck a glance when he guessed Ian had turned his head. He watched the direction in which the redhead had turned to see Roger Spikey walking towards Ian. If Mickey cared, he would have noted the air of confidence the clean cut, brown hair boy had; his dimpled chin lifted a bit and the freckles that splayed over his nose and cheeks almost invisibly as his nose stood at attention. But Mickey didn’t need to look that closely to know that Roger was, in fact, a conceited asshat. And at the moment the boy’s mouth opened, he turned away, desperately not wanting to hear the conversation going on between him and Gallagher.

But if he must sit and wait for his body to truly awake, he had to endure a bit of pain, it seemed…

* * *

 

“Hey, Ian,” greeted Roger friendly and nonchalantly, as if the guy hadn’t broken up with him the most awful way possibly only 24 hours before. Ian wanted to be angry at that; he really did.

“Hey.” Ian was surprised at how even his tone was, like he hadn’t gotten a break-up text 24 hours ago. Roger stood before him, and he was hit with an overwhelming urge to be polite and as well-mannered as possible. Should he go with ‘How’s it goin’?’ or ‘How are you?’ And though he’d already decided he didn’t give a fuck, he asked accordingly. “So what the fuck happened?”

Roger wasn’t at all fazed by the directness Ian met him with. He only shrugged before taking a seat next to Ian, all ready to tell a fascinating tale of self-discovery. “So, while you were out having ‘Gallagher Family Fun-Time’ I was getting super bored and getting high can go for so long before _that_ gets boring, too, y’know?” When he got no response from his ex-boyfriend, he continued. “Anyways, I know you weren’t really feeling that club- _Hydrate_ , the one in Boystown. Well, I knew you didn’t like it that much so I didn’t really bother you when I went. It was actually fun going on my own- no offense,” Roger quickly added.

“None taken,” Ian responded in monotone, irritation growing with every second the story continued. “You gonna get to the point anytime soon?”

“Right! Well, I went and there was this producer guy there- you wouldn’t know his name; he produced Jersey Shore .”

“Oh, so trashy shit?” Ian was barely hanging on with where the story was going, barely making an effort to mask the seething tone he so desperately wanted to use.

Roger rolled his eyes. “See, I _knew_ you’d say something like that. _Anyways_ , we were talking for a bit after we sat down on the same couch to get…never mind. But it _turns_ out he needed new actors for his next project he’s producing.” Again, he got no reaction from his ex on the exciting news, so he finished. “Bottom line is that, with me going on a show and striving for bigger and better, I thought it’d be best if things ended now before we dragged it out for far too long.” He paused, as if he was going over his words in his head. He piped up, “Again, no offense.”

“None taken.” Ian squinted hard, trying to dig through a deep layer of what looked like complete and utter _bullshit_ – or was it idiocy? Whatever it was, it was an amount of stupid he couldn’t possibly process. “It’s just, uh, when did you ever decide you wanted to _act_?”

Roger gave a look of sympathy. “Maybe it was best we broke up after all, since you don’t seem to know me that well. Now that we got _that_ out of the way,” Roger smiled while changing the subject, “we promised before we even started dating that we’d go to prom together if there wasn’t anyone else. So, we can still-“

“Woah, hold the fuck up.” Ian laughed wryly as he backed away from the pity hand inching towards his shoulder. “Prom? Really? Is that what you cared about?”

Roger shrugged. “Prom is supposed to be an incredible experience, y’know? Don’t want a lousy break-up to ruin that, right?”

 _Lousy break-up. Lousy fucking break-up._ Ian laughed. “Yeah, guess not.” He was terse, now wanting this all to be over quickly. “We’re still friends.”

“Great. I’m gonna head over to advisory. See you around?” Before Ian could answer, Roger was up and ready to walk away. Ian gave a weak nod and sat with his back to the table, staring at the trees in the distance. He hadn’t sat in that position for long before he felt the presence of nosy around him. He turned back to see people had been given him not too subtle glances and had quieted down exponentially. But of course they’d continue on when they realized they’d been caught, and the sounds flowed. As he went to sit in his initial position, he’d noticed a pair of blue eyes that didn’t mask their subtlety. After the way Mickey left him last night, Ian guessed he was the one to be more embarrassed anyways.

Ian only let himself pretend he didn’t care or notice that Mickey’s eyes never left his skin for a minute or two before he became antsy; the shake in his leg barely started before he was up and out, ready to be anywhere but there.

* * *

 Mickey wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or take pity on poor Gallagher- and he’s sure as fuck not sure where the desire to _comfort_ the pathetic friendly giant came from. But he’s sure that if he didn’t give two shits about Douche Dick Roger before, the guy was now nonexistent on the list of things he couldn’t care less for. Amazing. And to think, that people felt that way about Mickey. Was Mickey as bad as him? The mere trial at comparison made Mickey want to upchuck any and everything he’d consumed very recently.

Thankfully he wasn’t given much of a free moment to ponder on the definite relations between himself and the other guy since Mandy was singing in his ear harshly. “Sooooo?”

Mickey looked to his little sister in confusion and pain. “’Sooooo’, what?”

Mandy pursued unabashedly. “So, how did it go with Ian last night? Did he try to cop a feel at any point? Did he pretend like he didn’t know how to shoot a gun-“ Mandy gasped with an amount of enthusiasm Mickey wasn’t aware she withheld. “Did _you_ pretend to not know how to shoot a gun?”

And Mickey wasn’t having any of it. “I’m gonna need all of _this_ ,” he motioned to her body, “to disappear really fucking quickly. Fuck, the last thing I need right now is perky­- _especially_ not from you.”

Mandy took a breath and raised her hands in surrender. “Ok, ok. I’m cool. Just, I wanna _know_ , y’know? It’s not every day that someone like _him_ talks to someone like _us_.”

Seriously, where had his sister gone? “What happened to the girl that _agreed_ Gallaghers were no better than us Milkovichs?”

Mandy nodded sincerely before smiling, a thought coming to mind. “What happened to the guy that would’ve bashed a homo’s head in at any minute?” And with a sense of pride because _obviously_ she had a point, she walked off, leaving Mickey to ponder on that question. At least he wouldn’t have to think about what he just saw from Gallagher.

And by the end of the day, he was completely brain-dead from the continuous lectures class after class. Had the teachers all woke up with this sense that _today_ was to talk about college till they’re blue in the face? They must have all sensed that there were students who weren’t really planning on going to college- ok, they must have all sensed _Mickey_ wasn’t really trying to go to college.

And here Mickey was, walking home frustrated to the point of rage because somehow those teachers had gotten through to him, and he was beginning to think maybe he had a chance, and the real reason why he couldn’t _possibly_ go to college was fading away.

“Hey, Mick,” he heard as he inched closer to his house. He saw Mandy on the bottom step of the porch, leaning against the rail with a smile that was unmistakably flirty. She forgot to switch it off as she waved to her brother and went back to smiling at the redhead. But there was Ian, looking at Mickey with a smile and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“The fuck is he doing here?” Mickey finally asked when he regained control over his muscles.

“Ian actually walked me home; thought I needed safety.”

And Mickey didn’t even try to stop his eyes from rolling heavenward. If that wasn’t the lamest attempt … “Please, she doesn’t need protecting. You haven’t met my sister until you’ve fought my sister.” He elbowed her as he walked up the steps. “She’s protectin’ _your_ ass.”

“I’ll take your word for that. Anyway, it was cool talkin’ to you again, Mands. Haven’t really talked since middle school and those pedophile teachers.”

Mandy giggled and the sound was foreign to Mickey’s ears, he almost looked back to see if his sister was still even there. “Please, don’t remind me of those pervy douchebags.” Mickey peered through the screen door to see if he could maybe catch a glimpse of the couch that his dad was usually parked on when he heard Ian call to him.

“So Mick, I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come to the Baseball game tonight? They’re makin’ their own Senior night.”

Mickey kept his eyes on the screen though he didn’t pay much attention to what he saw. “Didn’t hang out enough last night?”

“You high-tailed it, remember? Must’ve been scared of something.”

At the thought that Mickey was _scared_ , Mickey turned in an instant. “Hey, I ain’t scared of shit, Gallagher. Maybe I just don’t feel like goin’ out tonight…or with you.”

Ian was quiet, contemplative. “Ok, then.” He turned back to Mandy. “So is the offer of coming in to play videogames still on the table?” And in response he got that unearthly giggle again.

“No!” Mickey said a little too loudly. He silenced himself instantly to see if he heard snoring coming from inside. Even if there was, he wasn’t trying to have his dad find Ian sitting on their couch at any rate. “Ok, fine. When’s the game?”

Ian smiled in accomplishment. “We’re a few minutes late, but we can make it before the first inning is done.”

“Ok just…just give me a minute.” He threw the door open harder than he had to, but he didn’t really care enough.

He hadn’t noticed that Mandy was on his feet, following him into his room until he heard his door close.

“Hanging out two days in a row.” Her tone made her seemed rather impressed and when Mickey turned around, her wide-eyed expression had the same tell as well.

He groaned. “Don’t start, man. Not right now.”

“I think I have all the reason in the world to start right now. What the fuck happened last night?”

Mickey looked to his ceiling, not wanting to meet her eyes. “He told me I had…nice eyes last…” He trailed off as her audible gasp made him flinch as he prepared for some other unfamiliar noise he wasn’t used to.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to cover his ears…for _that_ reason. “Nice eyes? You think he meant something else? Pfft, we have the same eyes; I wonder if he thinks mine are nice.”

“Have you forgotten the part where he’s gay?” He whispered the last word, still not used to saying it aloud.

Mandy only laughed in blissful glee. “I know _you_ haven’t.” She laughed again at his pained expression before she sighed. “Seriously, why is this so bad, huh? You’re never looking for anything serious and he’s obviously on the rebound- you saw that scene this morning.” She leaned against the door. “It seems perfect to me. And you’re a senior. Once you go off to college you won’t hav-“

“Who the fuck are you anymore? I swear to God, where the fuck did Mandy go, huh?” He couldn’t recognize this person before him that spoke of college so coolly, who spoke of boys to him as if he was her best friend- or her sister.

Mandy sobered quickly at his words, as if she understood every thought he had. “Maybe that’s something to talk about later. Right now, you have a really hot guy waiting for you outside. He’s probably getting’ a bit antsy, too.”

Fuck, she was right. He threw his book bag on his bed and headed for the front door. Ian leaned against the fence with his back to Mickey, looking up and down the street calmly. At the sound of the screen door rattling shut, Ian turned to find Mickey heading down the stairs.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Ian couldn’t get over how pitiful he was. From the moment Mickey had walked up to them, it was like the thug _knew_ what was on his mind; what his plan was- not like he had much of one, really. But either way, Mickey genuinely seemed to find Ian’s pursuits rather annoying, but fuck Ian if he wasn’t going to keep trying (for the sake of the bet, he told himself on multiple occasions now).

Baseball games usually had a better turn-out than the softball games, but not by much. There was maybe a 3:1 ratio, and there were usually about 2 or 3 other people going to softball games, not counting the actual players.

Ian racked his brain for something, _anything_. He’d tried Debbie’s method of doing something Mickey liked- and look how well that turned out. But now he knew that he just had to find something that irked Mickey’s interest enough to get the guy going; and it should be smooth sailing from there- ‘should’ being the operative word.

The team had already been playing for 3 innings and the barely there sun was beginning to set. He looked over to the trees across the street from the field and watched the mesmerizing look of dormant trees waking from their slumber and the sun setting behind.

“What a lovely sight, isn’t it?” And he regretted his words the instant he turned to see Mickey’s irritated expression.

He grunted for an answer. “If that’s what you’re into, sure.”

Ian shrugged. “Well, what are you into?” He really needed to give his words more thought before speaking them.

“What?” Ian couldn’t really read his expression, but confusion was there.

And of course Ian felt the need to explain. “I-I just meant, like, what are your interests, and…stuff?”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

Ian sighed in exasperation; he needed to grow a pair. “I’m just trying to be nice-“

“Why? No one asked you to be nice to me. Why are you trying?”

Well, Ian was smart enough not to tell his true intentions, but surprisingly, it wasn’t hard for him to come up with answer. “I kinda wanted to be friends with you for a while, and y’know, you’re gonna be graduating soon.” He looked through his lashes to see Mickey had lost all remnants of annoyance. It must’ve worked.

He saw Mickey open his mouth to answer, but he looked over Ian’s head, making him turn. He saw the smug grin on his brother’s face before anything. Marissa stood next to him with her usual innocence.  “Only you would come to a baseball game fashionably late,” Ian teased to Lip as he took a seat and Marissa followed.

“Of course, dude. That’s my style. And you’re the only junior that’d come to a Senior night baseball game.”

“I’m trying to get Mickey out of his shell,” Ian used as an excuse and grinned at Mickey, who gave him a wry smile.

“Hopefully you’ll be showing your style on Saturday at London’s party. It’s hosted by the girls’ soccer team, but I’m guessin’ you already knew that,” Marissa said with a kind smile.

Ian scoffed. “No shit. I had to listen to London plan the whole thing out after practice last week. I’m just surprised when she invited Lip given their, um, not-so-secret past.”

“Fuck off, man. We’re fine now. Everything’s good.”

“As you say.”

“Ian!” They all turned to see Mason, one of the baseball plays, standing at the make-shift dug out. “Coach said I need to keep practicing my pitch. Wanna give a hand?” Ian was pretty sure none of them missed the smile Mason gave.

Ian shrugged with a bit of shock. “Why not?” He turned to Mickey. “You ok if I handle this?”

Mickey’s eyes bugged. “I’m not your mother.” Then he shoo-ed him away which Ian laughed at.

* * *

 

Mickey tried to focus on the game, but he couldn’t help but watch Ian’s shoulders tense, or how nice it looked when Ian had to bend down to pick the ball up.

“So, how’s it goin’ Mickey?” Lip asked, scooting a bit closer.

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch. What, you have selective liking towards the Gallaghers? I doesn’t really work well with us, y’know.”

“Who says I like Gallagher?” Mickey challenged. “I tolerate him. That whole Gallagher charm bullshit is annoying as fuck, in case none of you got the memo.”

At some point in his pretending to be unaware of Ian, he actually had and wasn’t aware when the ball had landed in front of him and the pair were a good distance away.

“Ey, Mick!” Ian called. “Can you throw it back?”

Mickey picked the ball up, not making much noise of how odd it felt to hold it. He threw with a harsh strength he hadn’t used for years. And once Ian caught it with an easy smile, he felt his heart race at something he knew he’s missed out on in years.

“Nice throw, Mickey,” he heard Mason say compliment, impressed. “Dude, you should come down here.”

Mickey was seriously contemplating if whether he should tell MotherFucker Mason to fuck off, but he saw the expecting look on the red head’s face, the stupid biting of his lip as he awaited Mickey’s answer and he felt himself moving uncontrollably towards the other two guys.

“Man, I was just kidding when I said I was breaking you out of your shell, but hey…” Ian trailed off as he threw the ball back to Mickey. The impact of it hitting his palm felt so unworldly, like he’s felt it before and feeling it for the very first time; he looked down to hide the smile pursing at his lips.

“Yeah, ‘outta my shell’ my ass,” Mickey mumbled as he threw the ball to Mason.

* * *

 

Their team won by a point or two- Mickey hadn’t paid attention when Ian was trying to break down the scoring as the baseball team packed up their shit. Either way, they won (not that Mickey cared).

“I’d ask you guys to come to practice,” Mason said, running to walk along Ian as they went to the trail of the park, “but I know how Mr. Buetel is with soccer practice.”

“I don’t think I’d even want to be at your practices, dude,” Ian comforted. “But yeah, Mr. Buetel goes hard. Sorry.”

Mason shrugged of the disappointment. “Whatever. But I’ll see you at London’s party, right? Think Mr. Buetel will make an exception for your girl counterparts?”

Ian scoffed. “Doubt it. But I’m totally goin’ for sure.”

Mickey had been quiet for the better part since Mason’s appearance, so he wasn’t expected to hear his name come from the kid’s mouth. “Are you comin’, too, Mickey?” To his surprise, the question had no extra to it, just curiosity.

“Wasn’t fuckin’ invited.” The high Mickey had allowed himself to be on had passed and he was back to wanting a cigarette and a beer. “Wasn’t gonna go if I was.”

Mason laughed. “You’re going.”

Mickey turned to the overtly dazzling smile. Did Mickey fucking _ask_? “Says who?”

“I just figure if Ian has anything to do with it, I’m probably gonna see you there.” He turned to look over his shoulder. Apparently, he had left his team. “I gotta help with the equipment, but maybe I’ll try to catch up with you after practice,” Mason said as a good-bye, patting Ian on the shoulder before running back.

“ _Maybe I’ll try to catch up with you after practice_ ,” Marissa mimicked in a contrasting voice used to mock Mason’s. She made a grunt in disgust and turned back with a scrunched nose from where she was walking with Lip in front of Mickey and Ian. “Gosh, could he have _been_ more obvious? Damn you’re not even cold yet and he’s already trying to bone you?”

Lip laughed and bumped her shoulder. “Right? So fuckin’ typical.” He grinned back at Ian. “If you’re still lookin’ for a rebound-“

“I never _was_ looking for one. For someone who’s so smart, you can’t seem to get that past your thick skull.” He rolled his eyes as Lip saluted him with the middle finger before walking forward with Marissa. “Anyways,” he sighed he turned to Mickey, “he wasn’t wrong, y’know?”

Confused, Mickey clarified, “You _are_ looking for a rebound?” and if his voice hitched at the last word, he prayed Ian hadn’t noticed.

“What? No. I’m talking about what Mason said. You gotta go to that party.” He walked forward and turned to walk backwards to face Mickey head on.

Mickey chuckled. “On the contrary, Firecrotch. I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything.”

Ian almost tripped before he found his balance. “Firecrotch?” he questioned with raised eyebrow.

Mickey shrugged. “If the shoe fits…or the carpet matches.”

Ian mocked shock. “What was that, Mickey _Milkovich_? Sounded like taunting- friendly taunting.” Mickey was actually grateful he didn’t mention anything else in his slip. Solemnly, Ian asked, “Does this mean you’re not mad about what I said last night?”

Mickey rolled his eyes because he forgot he was supposed to be mad. “I guess having nice eyes isn’t a crime. But that doesn’t mean you can just throw your charm around expect every guy to bend over for you?”

“Bend over?” His voice had gone low and Mickey was sure he caught that dirty hint to the half smile Ian was sporting. “How did you know?”

Mickey didn’t realize until he was trying to exhale that Ian had inched closer, making their walk more like a waltz with no hands; and realizing how close they were gave Mickey flashbacks of yesterday and he just needed to get a grip…

“I was just…” Mickey tried to swallow, but he couldn’t even remember how to do that.

Ian smiled. “I’m fuckin’ with you, Mick,” he whispered, but the sound itself couldn’t convince Mickey of Ian’s words.

“Right,” Mickey whispered. He needed to get a fucking grip over his body.

“Ian!” the familiar call from Marissa brought them out of…whatever that was. “Are you and Mickey heading somewhere?”

“I’m actually gonna head home,” Mickey answered, walking around Ian.

“We can walk to the party together, yeah?” Ian asked as Mickey walked past Lip and Marissa.

“In your fuckin’ dreams, Gallagher.”

When Mickey was sure he was far enough, walking down a side street, he let out a heavy sigh. It was getting frustrating trying to pin-point if Ian knew or not. Could he stop playing around for one second?

But that was the last thing he wanted to think about, because now he let Ian again and he was sure it was going to be the hardest thing trying to shake him off this second time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *remembering a time when I thought writing 3 pages was alot and here I am writing ten per chapter hahahahaha*


End file.
